We stumbled into his apartment,
shhhhssing each other and
stifling giggles.
He took me in his arms
as I re-gained balance
from kicking my
sandals off and
he looked dreamily
into my eyes.
"Baby," he said...
"Baby, don't remember
this tommorow, probably
just the beer talking,
but you and I need
to find a five-
bedroom house
to buy together--
or maybe just four.
The boys could always
share a room...
yes, at least four."
He had told me again
as we sat on barstools
watching the dancers
at the dinosaur den
--the old-people's bar--
how he loved being with me
but wasn't ready to fall in love
and "can I say something sweet
without you talking about
marriage or living together or..."
And here he was before me
daring to dream less than
an hour later as he said,
"You're doing it again, honey,
making me fall in love."
My smile was gone as I
gulped hard and tried not
to dream along with him.
He was right, probably
just the beer talking.
I would never acknowledge
his dreaming aloud.
I had already pretended
to forget what he said
as we tumbled on his couch,
but my mind was already
decorating the walls
of the house we
might never buy
as he decorated me
with his kisses.
